When a person is gone, clothes, watches, quilts, beds... everything they used in life will be disposed of. Nothing can be retained except for the house and money.
Looking at it this way, life seems meaningless—everything in the world is empty joy, nothing truly belongs to you. It was lively when you arrived, but you leave empty-handed, and the outcome has long been predetermined: a wisp of smoke, a handful of soil.
Then why do we still work hard to make money, buy cars and houses, trying to prove our existence through material means?
But in the end, not even an old bed can be taken away.
Since nothing can be left behind, why be bound by anxiety? The leader's criticism, the neighbor's comparisons, the numbers in the card... Those pressures that keep us awake at night, a hundred years later, are just dust returning to dust, wind returning to wind.
In this life, the only thing that belongs to you is every moment of 'being alive.'
Only when you let go of the obsession of 'having to leave something behind' can you truly live for the present:
The warmth of that bowl of hot porridge in the morning doesn't need a photo; it remains on the tip of the tongue;
Children laughing as they rush into your arms, no need for likes yet filling the heart;
The cool breeze on my back during evening walks and the rustling leaves suddenly make one forget their worries.
It turns out that happiness has always been very cheap; it's us who are always busy hoarding for the future.
Thinking of that saying: 'To live is to grow old.' Now it feels somewhat intimate.
The ending that life gives to everyone is the same, but the blank pages in between must be filled by ourselves.
Since we can't take wealth and fame with us, it's better to 'squander' time on what is real:
Spend a little more time chatting with your parents, help a stranger with directions in exchange for a thank you, or even just daydream and watch the clouds drift away... all are serious thanks to life.
After three generations, it doesn't matter who remembers us.
What matters is this moment, as a ray of sunshine warmly falls on your shoulder, and you can feel it.
When death eventually takes away the shell, at least the soul can say:
In my life, I have lived through joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness seriously, without wasting any of it.
Take a trip through the human world, don't be a苦行僧.
May you and I treat ourselves well and not waste this life.
